


My Bloody Valentine

by Measured



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, M/M, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 09:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3351113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The holiday is like most other days, but bloodier, and with more chocolate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Bloody Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> Blood In The Water spoilers. Heavy on the gore. Thanks to Multiversecafe for the beta.

1.

"A little further," Heavy said.

"Hmm, are we going somewhere? Out to dinner, maybe?" Medic said. He'd been guessing most of the trip, but to little avail. Heavy had been as tight-lipped as ever.

"You will see," Heavy said.

When they came to the abandoned pole barn used for storage, Medic's questions only intensified. Was it a machine? The place was rusted through, barely even used for anything but practice anymore. Pitted with scorch marks, bullet holes and craters from explosions. 

But when the door opened, he saw exactly the gift. It was everything he every wanted and more. Medic clasped his hands at the beauty of it all. It was utterly magnificent, the highest pile of bodies of the other team he had ever seen. And oh, the wounds on them! Heavy had spared them no mercy, and yet left most of their internal organs intact. He'd even been so thoughtful as to use his hands, to keep the organs from being tainted by lead or ripped apart.

"You made it arduous, ja? Please tell me they suffered."

"They screamed for mercy, and I gave them none. With my bare hands I ripped them apart," Heavy said.

And true, Heavy was still spattered in the blood and gore. Red under his fingernails. Oh, he was a glorious blood-stained monster of a man.

"This is the most glorious thing I could have ever received," Medic said.

He had to lean up for the kiss. He could swear he tasted the metallic aftertaste of blood and salt on Heavy's lips.

 

2.

He'd had it all planned out. Dinner, roses, the whole works. He was going to be a suave gentleman, even if he had to kill the whole staff and get his stupid dandy clothes dirty in the process.

But then, he'd gone and killed those chefs for nothing. The news shouldn't have been a surprise, as her job was really determined to cockblock the fuck out of him, but he had hoped for one lucky day where he could get a few hours to impress her with dinner. He'd practiced how to use a soup spoon and not slurp and everything.

"Really, on Valentine's day?" Scout said.

She shrugged, seeming too weary and jaded for her age. "When I get orders, I do them. No matter what the cost."

Scout leaned back in the truck and let out a sigh. He'd been planning this for over a year. Technically more, if you count the seeds of it back when he couldn't get a word out to her without tripping over his tongue. She already had runs in her stockings, and he hadn't even given them to her ripping her clothes off. A bloody hand print was on her stomach, staining her purple blouse. A rip had gone so far in her dark purple skirt that not even his ma's stitching could've saved it.

He was looking the worse for the wear, with two band-aids on his cheeks and nose, and enough rips in his shirt to give her a peek of the goods. At least he didn't have a pair of black eyes this time.

"Listen, this isn't some quick job. It'll be well after midnight by the time we're done. If you want to go, you're welcome to."

And she didn't have to say it. Her day off would be over. 

"Ain't no place I'd rather be," Scout said.

Except maybe Fenway for the World Series this year, knock on wood. But even then he imagined her right beside him. That's how he imagined most things these days.

The desert passed by, a tiny sandstorm which made her bun loose, loose hairs whipped about. The windows never fully closed in this truck, for some reason. The burial spot of the day wasn't too far off this time. It'd almost be kind of romantic, with the sunset over the rocky horizon, if the stench of the truck and the buzzing flies hadn't ruined it.

"Aight, aight, I got this. Just leave it up to me. What do you want, me to carry in the quicklime, get the belt sander?"

"Just pull the red rug out for me, would you?" She said.

"Yeah, got it," Scout said.

When she went into the cave, he stayed back. A plan formed in his mind. If anything, he whole almost dying thing really taught him to think on his feet. Not all the ideas were good ones, but he got ideas.

He pulled out the wrapped up rug, which had already begun to smell in the desert heat. Man, either the old voice owned this joint, or they were keeping some rug makers real happy and real quiet. This guy's face had already been shot off, meaning they had a lot less work than usual. Scout was practically desensitized to gore at this point. 

It didn't take much to unwrap the guy. Everything else was just another day's work. He pulled out his pocket knife, and rounded on the body.

"Sorry pally, no hard feelins. I just need a romantic fire, and Engie taught me all about makin' fires without any wood around."

By the time she'd come back, he'd gotten a nice fire going. He'd even drawn some hearts in blood over the parts not consumed by fire yet. Who said romance was dead?

"That's toasty," she said.

"And I got S'mores. I always keep emergency chocolate around. You never know when you'll need to put a fire in a dead guy and make S'mores."

"Always a plus," she said.

"You know, just because you gotta work late on your day off don't mean you can't take as long as possible doin' it and have fun. Boss probably don't expect you until way past midnight anyways," Scout said.

"Technically that's a horrible idea and could get you well on the way to getting fired, but this is my day off and I'm going to have a damn S'more," she said.

She sat down beside him in the sand, close enough to count as a cuddle.

"Oh, you---you got teeth in your hair," Scout said.

"Oh," she said. She pushed the not-so-pearly whites spattered in red out of her hair. "It happens. You wouldn't think that teeth would be so easy to lose, but I'm always finding them in my shoes or purse."

She smiled so sweet, like she wasn't talking about pulling out teeth or belt-sanding off fingertips at all, but cotton candy and dates he might get years later. Then again, she wouldn't be the same without a little blood on her cheek, ripped stockings and a dirt on her palm. 

 

3\. 

He always showed up at odd hours, never with any sort of plans. Plans could be intercepted, and he was always on the look out for them being intercepted. He didn't always show up for anniversaries or birthdays. Sometimes he was early, sometimes late, to throw off anyone who might follow him.

She got used to seeing him in glimpses, to stolen kisses and the scent of roses left on a pillow in lieu of a goodbye. She got used to her sons growing up without a father, to being the elegant widow who women pitied and occasionally kept at a distance. 

He never made promises that he couldn't keep, which meant that he never made them at all. Kisses, no plans, a picture pressed into his palm before he left. _Remember me_ unspoken.

After midnight, she almost thought she'd stayed up with the curtains drawn for nothing. In a hotel room key slipped underneath her door, smelling of a familiar cologne. But a sound at the window, a movement in the shadows, and he appeared. In an immaculate suit like that, no one would guess he was a killer.

"It's been a long time, stranger," she said.

"I missed you," he whispered into her hair. His hand pushed up under her lacy white nightgown.

He may have been a liar, but every emotion and expression came through past the mask when he was around her. She leaned into him, the warmth of these few seconds. The life she'd chosen above a stable life, a man who could reveal his name and face to her without consequence.

"Me too," she said.

 

4\. 

 

He had promised her the stinkiest barn around, and he sure lived up to it with their own little herd of furry raccoons. Soon stinky little children would join them. She already had plans of little raccoon onesies knitted up for them. 

For old time's sake, she'd donned the nightgown she'd worn when she'd first met him. It had been mended many times from how he'd ripped it off her, but she couldn't bring herself to throw it out.

When he arrived with a big box, she reached underneath a pile of raccoons. They chittered and complained as she pushed them away, but they soon found rafters to climb up to.

She held out a box, stained with fresh blood and entrails, only somewhat gnawed on by raccoons.

"The heads of my enemies! How did you know?" Soldier said.

"A little bird told me," Zhanna said.

"You can speak to Archimedes? I've tried, but never thought you could speak _dove_."

She chuckled. "You are unlike any other man."

"I meant for it to be a surprise, but—here---" He pulled out a box, full of heads gleaned straight from his enemies.

"You Huttahed and necksnapped without me?" Zhanna said.

"I wanted it to be a surprise," Soldier said.

She leaned in to kiss him. "It is a wonderful surprise. We'll put them on the fence, and let all fear who would oppose us," Zhanna said.

Soldier had also gotten some chocolate, which was in a raccoon-proof box. She easily disarmed the barbed wire, and marveled at the capitalist wonder. There was such a lush world past the snowy caverns she had always known. Chocolate in boxes, stink barns with decorations of ears hung over the door and heads for the fence.

"I got enough spoiled mayonnaise to keep the kids busy all night," Soldier said in a low, husky voice.

She emptied the box of candies into her bra.

"Good, because it will take all night. Now, _fetch._ "

 

5\. 

"Sniper, you dirty Kiwi, get out of that van and come drink with me!"

Sniper let out a sigh, and opened up the door to his camper van. Blinking into the sunlight with some drunk, or fast talking coworker wasn't exactly an uncommon event. Though romance had made plenty of them too busy to bother him. He didn't get entangled in all that mess.

"There's red beer and nice company. All me mates went and got hitched, leavin' me alone and without a wingman," Demoman said. He was even wearing a kilt, and a dress-coat. 

"Nice to know I'm the last resort," Sniper muttered.

"Red beer, Sniper. _Red beer_."

He'd just run out, too. He could've gone and asked Engineer, or hit the local fridge in hopes it hadn't run out as well, but then he'd have to run into Scout. And he couldn't take another talk about his happy family and his mother who sent him knitted sweaters and called every day.

But, Scout would have plans today. Probably chasing after Miss Pauling, so it'd be safe to go out for one night. He needed start getting his beer stocked up for when his first Mother's day and Father's day spent alone came around.

"Fine, I'll drink, but I'm not flirtin'," and I'm sure as hell not dressin' up, Sniper said. 

"More for me," Demoman said.

Which was how he landed in that sorry bar and grill down past Teufort. Covered in tacky Valentine's day hearts and streamers stapled to the walls, like Scout had been through there and tried to make a Valentine's day dance to match his prom. Most of the patrons were too drunk to care about the bad decorations, shuffling some two step together on the tiny dance floor.

Sniper took a sip of his red beer, which didn't taste any different from regular beer. Demoman was dancing with a girl with blond long hair, and a thick Russian accent. The red skirt of her dress turned a paler shade when she spun. It wasn't so bad to people watch, and forget himself for a while. 

He used to buy chocolates out to send to his mum every year. Send her a postcard and flowers, too. But now he'd just be leaving them at the graveside. There was a cold feeling in his chest, like a twisted knife. He drank a little more to push it down. If he could say one thing about Demoman, it was the man knew how to deal with his grief. He could take a lesson or two in drinking from him.

"Sure hope you got us a cab, because I sure as hell aren't goin' to be drivin' tonight," Sniper muttered.

 

6\. 

Every year, Engineer waited until the day after Valentine's day to buy out all the stores in a fifty mile radius. He'd get up early, just as the stores were opening and put a dent in his paycheck. 

First Engineer would pull out the chocolates and freeze them, then keep some to send back to his dear mother. He never cared much for the candy hearts. They tasted like eating chalk straight from the sidewalk. But Pyro loved them, so he'd set them aside. 

Pyro always got the leftover boxes. Like a magpie, Pyro couldn't keep away from anything bright. He'd given Pyro some glitter a bit back, and he was still pulling the stuff out of his workshop. In all those years, Pyro had never thrown away a single box, or gift from Engineer. No matter how cluttered their room got.

For Pyro, it wasn't Valentine's day, but the day after that was special. They'd appear on his doorstep, covered in glitter and scorch marks, with a happy _hudda!_

"Here you go, Firebug," Engineer said.

Engineer couldn't help but break into a smile as he handed over this year's haul. He never could see Pyro's face, but he'd like to think that they were smiling too.


End file.
